


Untitled

by TV_addict_86



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Island, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:35:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8196167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TV_addict_86/pseuds/TV_addict_86
Summary: Felicity wakes up hungover, there are a few surprises waiting for her...A more comprehensive summary will be added if and when I decide to continue with the story. For now it's just this one chapter.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abbie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/gifts).



> This is the first chapter of a fic that will most likely never be finished, but I was happy with the first chapter and decided to gift it to AbsentlyAbbie for her birthday!

** Chapter One **

Laying perfectly still, she decides, is the way to go. Or at least the way to go for as long as possible. Every time she shifts her head just a little, she can hear and feel the blood pounding in her head like a group of road workers is trying to break open her skull. So she’s just going to stay in bed for now. Do nothing. Just… lay here.  

A while later her brain is slowly starting to reboot. How much later exactly she has no way of knowing because really, the most intelligent thought since waking up was “hurts less when I don’t move, so no moving”. One leg slowly makes its way from under the covers to fresh air. She can feel her calves already protesting that movement, so the heels she’d worn the night before had probably not been her best idea to date.  

Once her left leg has escaped the confines of her duvet, she attempts to push the covers off herself entirely, to counteract the drowsiness she can already feel pulling at her again. If she knew anything from past experience, it was that actually falling asleep again before she drank her weight in water would make the hang-over last well into the evening.  

The road workers inside her head seemed to be on a break, so she slowly sits up and moves to the side of the bed. Queasiness has taken up residence in her stomach and she can feel clamminess on her neck and forehead. She’d like to try and remember what had led her to this awful morning, but her brain refuses to think about anything other than performing basic functions. Like getting up and walking to the bathroom. Two steps in and she decides she’s never wearing heels again.  

After relieving herself and honestly sitting there for longer than strictly necessary because the road workers were back from their break, she decides she wants, no _needs_ coffee. And lots of water. Maybe breakfast if she can keep the coffee down. It might be possible she wants coffee so bad she starts hallucinating – did people hallucinate smells? – because she’d swear she could already smell the coffee. The smell gets stronger as she makes her way to the kitchen, so no hallucination then? If it is, it’s auditory as well because she hears her cabinets and drawers being opened and closed as well.  

If she wasn’t so hung-over she might have been more concerned than she actually was, but right now all she could come up with was “why would someone brew coffee while robbing me?”. Since her brain still hadn’t quite caught up to possible danger, she walked into the kitchen. A slightly rumpled-looking guy was pulling a coffee cup from the cupboard above the sink and putting it carefully down on the counter. She could see the muscles underneath his obviously slept in dress shirt move when he slowly reached for the coffeepot.

So, he was probably not robbing her. Unless he was a worse caffeine addict than she was. Unlikely, but she was never one to dismiss possibilities just because they seemed ridiculous.

His slacks hung low on his hips and were also badly creased – so also probably slept in – but his feet were bare on the linoleum. Was he trying to be quiet, or was he just as hung-over as she was?

“Hi!” Her tone was louder than her own head was happy with, but his response told her that he was probably both trying to be quiet _and_ just as hung-over as her. He whirled around, luckily without having grabbed the coffee pot yet, his expression somehow simultaneously surprised and pained.  

His face managed to jog a few memories from last night, and she had the feeling they’d spent most of the evening talking and laughing. And drinking, lots and lots of drinking. But instead of commenting on that, or thinking about the ridiculousness of a guy like him spending his entire night with a girl like her, the first thing out of her mouth since she saw his face was: “I spent the night with Oliver Queen?!”.

And because that was not yet the absolute worst thing she could have said just then, she kept going. “I mean, not spent spent, but you know, we slept together. NO, not slept together, just slept in the same apartment. Far apart from each other. Which I’m not even sure of, did you sleep on the couch? Or did I just not notice you sleeping in my bed? I imagine that would be something I’d remember. Not that it’s such a big deal when someone sleeps in my bed. Not that that happens all the time! But I’d like to think I’d remember you? You’re probably very memorable and oh god why aren’t you stopping me. Why am _I_ not stopping me?! I’m just gonna..” she trails off as she steps around him, grabs her favorite coffee cup (the big one, that holds the most coffee at once) and pours herself a cup, adds a lot of milk and makes her way to her living room and pretends he’s not there. At least until she finishes her coffee.

She thinks she can hear him huff out a soft laugh beneath his breath, but she’s pretending the entire exchange between them in the kitchen didn’t happen, so she’s just going to think of that as the coffee pot making fun of her hallucinations. Stupid coffee pot.

While she’s drinking her coffee he joins her in her living room and takes a seat in the other corner of her couch. Her throw-blanket, that’s usually thrown haphazardly in the corner of the window seat, is folded neatly over the couch’s armrest. So he probably did sleep on the couch then, he must feel pretty stiff – oh dear Google thank you for not letting that slip out aloud – because her couch isn’t that big and he, well, he is. Very. Tall that is, not the other type of big. Wow ok, just stop thinking all together, because that’s just another embarrassing ramble waiting to happen. She discreetly glances sideways at him just to make sure none of that escaped the confines of her brain.  

He sits silently next to her sipping from his own cup of coffee, not giving any kind of reaction to her thoughts, confirming that they were just that, thoughts. It’s kind of nice actually, just sitting there, not talking. Not feeling the need to fill the silence.  

The peaceful moment is cruelly broken by her phone ringing in her bedroom. She groans softly and tilts her head backwards. Instead of getting up to answer it, she decides that she’s allowed to add the ringing phone to the things she’s ignoring for as long as her cup of coffee lasts. Like Oliver Queen sitting next to her, in an apartment that probably costs less than one of his suits. After spending the night. The night she can’t actually remember very well.   

Sitting silently on the couch let’s her mind wander however, and she’s starting to remember hearing her phone chime with several incoming messages the first time she woke up this morning. She’d put her phone on priority calls only then, so she hasn’t heard any other messages coming in and the incessant ringing could only mean one of three people was trying to reach her now.

Persistently, because the phone started ringing for the third time since she’d started to ignore it. Which meant this was either her mother or her job. She let out an irritated growl while she got up and, keeping the coffee cup safely in her hand – nobody was separating her from her coffee right now – she headed to her bedroom to answer the damn thing.  

Checking to make sure it wasn’t in fact her job calling, so she didn’t need to pretend not to be hung-over, she answered the phone.  

She didn’t get a single word in before her mom started to squeal in her ear. “Oh god, baby, I’m so happy for you but why didn’t you say something sooner?!” Immediately holding the phone on a safe distance from her ear and putting it on speaker instead, she started to walk back towards the safe and comfy couch.  

“I’m sorry mom, but what are you talking about? And why are you calling this early on a Saturday, don’t you usually work late on Friday nights?” she asked as she sat down.

“Oh sweetheart, you’ve probably been celebrating haven’t you? I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Her mom was still way too loud and cheerful for her tastes and Oliver – who she couldn’t really ignore anymore – lifted a singular eyebrow in question.

“Celebrate? Mom I’m sorry but, what?”  

“Oh honey, your engagement to Oliver Queen of course!”  

The squealing continued, but she just stared dumbfounded at the phone. Blinked. Swallowed another sip of coffee that suddenly didn’t really taste like anything anymore. She was aware of her mother still asking questions in between squealing, but what she was saying didn’t really register, because honestly, what the hell? She ended the call without saying another word, and stared at an equally dumbfounded Oliver.

“I… What?” Belatedly she realized those are the very first words Oliver has uttered since she found him in her kitchen. “I know I drank a lot last night, but I don’t think even I would forget an entire relationship?” Whether he was asking her, or talking to himself wasn’t clear.

Instead of trying to form words to respond she puts her phone – that’s already ringing again – on the couch’s armrest closest to her, grabs her tablet from the wooden coffee table and pulls up the gossip section of local magazines. If people thought Oliver Queen had gotten engaged last night, it would be all over those. 

And it was. Pictures of the two of them all over each other – something she wouldn’t mind remembering right now – captioned by headlines like “Oliver Queen officially off the market?” and “EXCLUSIVE! Oliver Queen pops the question to Felicity Smoak!” and “Who is Felicity Smoak and what’s her history with resident playboy Oliver Queen?”

For a second she believes it’s just a big misunderstanding, people reading more into a situation than there actually is to it, but then she notices them. The screenshots accompanying the pictures, screenshots of several social media sites. Screenshots of things both she and Oliver apparently posted.

About them getting engaged.

To get married.

To each other.

 


End file.
